


Not This Time

by KeeperofSeeds



Series: Obi Wan & Shmi and the Worst Vision ever [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Clone Wars (mentioned), Force-Sensitive Shmi Skywalker, Gen, Injury, Male-Female Friendship, Missions Gone Wrong, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan Obi-Wan, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Timey-Wimey, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-27 02:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12571948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperofSeeds/pseuds/KeeperofSeeds
Summary: A mission goes wrong and Qui Gon is injured. Obi Wan has trouble dealing. The memory from the Vision of his Master dying in his arms haunts him.Obi Wan's POV of the aftermath of the mission mentioned in Chp 5 of Hearts Entwined





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obi Wan's POV from chp 5 of [Hearts Entwined](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7425949/chapters/27845472)

_You've done this dozens of times before_ Obi Wan thinks, trying to talk him through this.   _How many times had a Trooper come back with shrapnel? Or how many times over the years had Anakin been the target of a knife in the back? That boy seemed to draw trouble towards him. Yet they had managed._

Even if it was just a Vision, Visions can feel just as real as waking life, and leave a person with just as many feelings behind.

It's a help as much as a hindrance in this instance. Obi Wan's emotions fight for dominance. He pushes them aside as he unwillingly lets his Master make his own way to the ship's small med bay, while he sets the fastest course for home.

He rushes through the halls without shame once the ship hits hyperspace and finds his Master grimacing as he leans back on the bed barely long enough for his frame. Obi Wan gently  pushes him down, and concentrates on slowly the pool of blood spreading down Qui Gon's tunics. There wasn't blood on Naboo. That difference grounds him in the here and now. It keeps back the panic, the old pain of what it felt like to have his Master slip away in his arms. Not again, not _again,_ his mind runs on a loop as he digs through the ship's med bay supplies with shaking hands and finally finds a bacta patch.

His mouth is running as he searches for supplies. Mindless things, like jokes about how the Temple quartermaster will surely start dying their robes ridiculous colors in punishment for requesting more than the average allotment, to muttered complaints of the setup of the med bay and how Kix would be appalled at the system of organization in here. Anything he can think of that might keep Qui Gon's attention for just a little longer. When he pulls at the layer of his tunic, Qui Gon hazily reaches up his good arm to help, but Obi Wan pushes it aside.

"Just _stay still_  Master!" he orders. "You're making it worse."

His Master huffs, breath tight with pain, but obeys.

The wound, once revealed, is filthy and still oozing steadily. Obi Wan breathes out to steady his own hands, and uses one of the disposable, absorbent pieces of cloth in the medpack to press firmly down on Qui Gon's chest.

His Master gasps and tries to curl in around the source of pain, before he suddenly goes limp.

Obi Wan's heart stutters at the sight. His bloodied fingers fly forward to check for a pulse. It takes him longer than he should to calm his own shaking enough to feel the steady beats.

Just unconscious. He sighs in relief, allowing himself one moment to rest his head against Qui Gon's chest, to feel the steady beat of his pulse under his fingers and the rise of his chest under his head, before he straightens, and gets back to work.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes almost two days to get back to the Temple, and Obi Wan doesn’t let himself fall asleep the entire ride back. He's gone for longer in his memories. He remembers long campaigns on far off Planets he doesn't yet recognize from the Vision. It's this body he thinks. His teenage self not used to the daily life and stamina that come from fighting a war. But he fights the urge to nod off. He has to make sure Qui Gon doesn't wake up and need more pain medication. He has to make sure the last IV he'd set up doesn't run out, that Qui Gon's wound stays clean, and another handful of things that he doesn't trust the limited setup to alert him to.

Qui Gon's face is smooth and pale in sleep. Clean of his bloody tunics and wrapped in one of the too short blankets he'd found in storage, his Master stays still and calm. He should be glad...but Obi Wan can't help but see that same pale face upon the funeral pyre.  
  
He avoids the stims in the med bay, but by the time their ship reaches the Temple his hands are shaking anyway from exhaustion. His shields are a mess. It's lucky Qui Gon is still unconscious, else Obi Wan would be overwhelming his injured body.

He follows the medics who meet the ship while they transfer Qui Gon to the Halls of Healing. Qui Gon didn't stir the entire time he was being moved off ship, and it's making Obi Wan nervous. Has his Master lost too much blood? Did he not do enough? What if he'd forgotten something?    

His hands are twisting together in his sleeves and he can't draw in enough air. Why isn't Qui Gon reacting to anything?

He's lost him again. He wasn't good enough, wasn't fast enough, wasn't-

a hand on his shoulder jerks him out of the downward spiral of his thoughts.

It's Shmi.

He lets her draw him away from after only a momentary digging in of his heals. He trusts Shmi. She's seen the horrible fate of his Master in the Vision. She'd tell him if things weren't looking good. She seem to have more skill than Anakin did in that regard, breaking bad news with tact that is.

He lets her voice wash over him as they walk. Her scolding and worry reassuring him even as she steers him with a firm grip on his bicep and a warm arm around his back.

He doesn't remember getting to his room, just registers the swoosh of the opening door. Maybe exhauntion is finally catching up to him.

The next thing he knows is that he's being tucked into bed. It doesn't matter that he's much too old for such treatment. Shmi hovers above him, brushing his hair back from his face.  
_  
Sleep_ _,_ dear one, she whispers. You are both safe now. I'm leaving soon, but a friend will be by to check in on you later. _Sleep._


End file.
